


you taste like sundays

by smoll_jane



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoll_jane/pseuds/smoll_jane
Summary: Minghao's love for Junhui is sweet and pink, a lofi beat you listen to to rock yourself to bed.





	you taste like sundays

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks !  
it's been kind of a long time since i last posted something, and i'm sorry about that. i've been very busy with school and had kind of a struggle with writing. let's hope this short one-shot is a new starting point !  
i wanted to write something about synesthesia, which is a fascinating psychic phenomenon. i really recommend you to inquire about it !  
as always, don't hesitate to tell me what about your thoughts on this, leave a comment, a kudo, everything is appreciated :)  
also, you can still follow me on twitter (@smoll_jane) to see how much i procrastinate about writing.  
take care ♡

synaesthesia

/ˌsɪnɪsˈθiːzɪə/

_noun_

Physiology•Psychology

noun: **synesthesia**

  1. the production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another sense or part of the body.

*** 

He can't tell if the first thing he notices is the melody coming from the kitchen or the cinammon taste filling in his mouth. Minghao opens an eye, fighting against sleep, and the sun immediately shrouds him, rays melting on his skin, light soaking the empty place in the bed next to him. 

Junhui is humming in the kitchen, probably preparing breakfast or lunch as he always does on Sundays. Stretching his limbs to shake the slumber away, Minghao plays with the sugary taste on his tongue. Junhui always reminded him of sweet things. May it be with his way to talk, what he sings when he's happy, how he smells after shower, how he kisses him. It is various, though. Never the exact same thing, the exact same taste or scent. 

Because Junhui is never the same. He's like a will-o'-the-wisp ; volatil, unpredictable. But so, so comforting and warm. Minghao always knew Junhui was who he needed. 

He finally leaves the bed, getting rid of sleep one time and for all with a yawn, and he goes to the root of the melody. Minghao can't help but smile at the sight of Junhui, lost in his dreams, humming and whistling quietly while making some dance steps as he spins on himself to catch the things he needs. When he sees Minghao in the doorway, his face lights up by adorning a bright smile. 

"Hi honey, did you sleep well?"

Minghao nods, smiles. He likes being called like that. He never told Junhui, but honey is the most recurring taste Junhui brings him. He didn't tell him because he's scared it would go away and be replaced by something else. It's mostly his skin, that makes him taste honey. Soft like silk, melting under his touch like the huge pillows you only see in the chic hotel rooms in the movies. 

Minghao bypasses the counter to reach Junhui and slides a hand on his nape, smiling when Junhui tugs him closer by the waist. He slightly tiptoes, so that Junhui doesn't have to bend down to kiss him, and the cinammon is replaced by Sundays. 

That is something he has never been able to explain. The fact he can taste concepts, abstract things. But he loves it. He loves the fact kissing Junhui never fails to bring him memories about lazy and rainy Sundays spent cuddling on the couch, watching hundreds of boring movies or juggling between naps and snack breaks. He loves the fact it is so deeply inked in him he doesn't fear of _this_ specific association to go away. 

Sunday memories go away when they break apart and Junhui's following smile tastes like strawberry. Minghao puts a small kiss on his cheek and goes take a seat on a stool, making a nest of his hands for his chin. 

"What are you cooking?"

Junhui's smile grows bigger and proud. "Hotpot. It's been a long time."

Something else he loves about Junhui. Something that has nothing to do with synesthesia. The fact Junhui can bring him home with a meal, can make him feel nostalgic and so relaxed with a few ingredients and love. Because Junhui puts so much love in everything he does that you can feel it right in your heart. 

Junhui starts humming again, a peasant wave of mint and blueberries making its way to Minghao, the music notes surfing on it. 

It had been hard, at the beginning, to explain Junhui how he felt things. To make him understand it wasn't a joke that the scribbled numbers he wrote on a napkin for him were a mix of yellow, green, red and blue. But then, when it was done, when Minghao told him his feelings toward him were like a calm lofi beat that would rock him to bed every night, he felt understood. He felt loved and accepted. Also, in a way, admired. Junhui used to look at him with so much respect everytime he would describe what something would remind him of. It made him love this weird thing that makes him who he is. 

They have many notebooks now, somewhere in a drawer, filled with explanations, associations. Sometimes, Junhui talks in colors instead of numbers, and Minghao smiles, loves. Bright red or soft pastel pink, he knows for sure it is love and he won't ever see it in an other shade. 

His favorite moment comes later, when the sun is down and the eyelids heavy. When his head is leaning against Junhui's chest, their legs intertwined and he can hear Junhui's heartbeats. That situation always makes him see the sea, the waves gently stroking sand and licking running kids feet. His and Junhui's, too. They're walking hand in hand, he can feel the last rays of sun on his skin, the gentle wind in his hair and Junhui's fingers locked with his. 

He loves falling asleep on the shore, holding his lover's hand. 


End file.
